


we could die chasing this feeling

by LyraLV



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dreamtale (Undertale), Angst, Cunnilingus, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Penetrative Sex, Post-Underverse, Semi-Public Sex, Sibling Incest, Smut, Soul Sex, Tentacles, Threesome - M/M/M, Throne Sex, Vaginal Sex, tentacle sacrum lacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-10-25 00:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20715233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraLV/pseuds/LyraLV
Summary: Dream learns not all secrets are easily kept.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to the lovely [Type](https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/pseuds/0neType) who helped me with this fic by editing and offering suggestions and glowing praise that I do not at all deserve. You are a sweetheart, and I don't know what I would've done without your help. 😂😘💜
> 
> Dubious consent herein this chapter. Details are in the endnotes, so please be mindful of that if need be.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Their relationship began with hushed whispers and pleased sighs, reveling in this new experience that was unshakably, undeniably theirs. Tainted by no one, confined to heated moments caught in the rarely used stone stairwell or the early morning hours when the castle’s occupants were just beginning to stir. Dream never even considered he would find quite a measure of satisfaction at his brother’s home. As it turned out, he fumbled into his relationship with Cross with all the social blunder that seemed to accompany every one of his actions.

(He’ll never forget the way Cross had so greedily accepted, breathing along his throat with starving anticipation, fingers grasping at clothes, pulling, trying to stumble their way to Dream’s room.)

So, yes, they had begun their relationship tentatively, if a relationship was even the appropriate name for what they have. It’s almost too great of a dare to mention feelings when in Nightmare’s castle. Such thoughts tended to summon the very one they’d been trying to keep this a secret from. Their quiet fervor had led to many secretive interludes whenever and wherever they could have each other.

It was Cross who suggested the bet one day, spread out across Dream’s bed like the most beautiful canvas as Dream ran his fingers and tongue along his exposed ribs and basked in the breathy moans that pervaded the early morning air. The bet was simple: see who could come up with the most daring place in the castle to fuck the other without getting caught by the rest of Nightmare’s gang. The playful suggestion and challenge in Cross’s eyes had easily shot down any protests Dream could think of concerning why this would be a bad idea.

(He’d always been the sibling who was more easily swayed.)

He’d agreed and then resumed chasing the words out of Cross’s mouth with his own tongue, tasting himself after a long hour of enjoying one another.

Unfortunately, Dream mistook his own competitiveness. After too many times of almost being caught either midthrust in Cross’s wet heat or bent over a flat surface on the lewdest display in one of the common rooms while biting his fist, Dream determined that it was not enough. He posed the idea to Cross. The concerned hesitation that flashed across his face should have been cautionary enough, but instead, in true competitive fashion, they found their way to the throne room one morning while it remained momentarily vacant.

“If we get caught, he’s gonna kill us.”

Dream hums and heads towards the stone dais, a spring in his step. “That depends on how quiet we can be and how quickly I can make you come.”

Cross snorts, unnecessarily derisive. “That’s my line. Or did you forget you had your turn last time?”

Dream pauses with one foot on the throne steps and flashes a grin over his shoulder at Cross. “But I’m the one who suggested my brother’s throne. I’ve already called dibs.”

Cross rolls his eyes but doesn’t refute the point, which means Dream has already won. He reaches the throne, spins around, and collapses into it with a content sigh. The happiness quickly turns to displeasure at the unforgiving stone pushing against his back.

“How does Night even enjoy sitting in this drab thing?” He asks. “It’s not the slightest bit comfortable.” He checks behind him. “Not even a single cushion or pillow. Geez.”

“I think it’s a matter of looking intimidating to anyone who comes to visit,” Cross says.

“Or maybe my brother is just a masochist,” Dream counters. He squirms against the throne to no avail, and after a moment of useless floundering, he sighs. He meets Cross’s raised brow and grins, lidded eyes trailing along Cross’s body. He pats his lap.

“C’mere,” Dream simpers.

Cross snorts but obeys like the loyal servant he is. The thought brings a shiver down Dream’s spine. Never once has he looked at any of Nightmare’s subjects as his own, the thought of even owning someone the farthest thought from mind, and yet…

Cross stops before him, exasperation a weak mask over the arousal hidden just underneath, and Dream finds himself wanting. He’d never entertain the thought of treating Cross as someone undeserving of his own autonomy or beneath Dream, at least not in status. But to have Cross offer that submission and devotion willfully— The idea is one worth revisiting.

His hands grip the armrests so as to not latch onto Cross so readily. He wants Cross to come to him.

“Second thoughts?” He asks. He knows Cross doesn’t have any, can read the hunger through his positive feelings alone, the thoughts in his head that are diminished to a near chanting of yes, yes yes, but he wants to wait for Cross to answer himself. He’s the protector of all good feelings, but that doesn’t mean he can’t also have some fun. Nightmare used to sometimes call him a mischievous brat, back when things were… Back in the days of the tree.

He shakes the forlorn feelings from his mind before his brother can sense them. No point in alerting Nightmare just yet. Not that he’s planning on Nightmare catching them at all! Probably best that this is another secret Dream doesn’t allow his brother to find out.

The embarrassment that lights up Cross’s face is beyond precious, and Dream hides a smile in the palm of his hand, elbow propped against the rough armrest of the throne. Cross glances away, face burrowing into the fur of his hood. The sharp jolt of affection Dream feels for him stabs his soul, and he straightens and reaches out tentatively, fitting his hand into Cross’s. After a moment his hand is squeezed tight.

Cross is looking away with a shyness that reminds Dream of Nightmare. He used to be timid around other people before they all began to show their hatred of him. Dream’s soul twists again, and he takes a careful, measured breath. He can’t risk getting upset and lost in his memories now. They’re supposed to remain unseen whenever they do this. Dream doesn’t want to attract unwanted attention, to draw Nightmare to his side when they are so open and vulnerable and _yearning_—

The breath whistles through his teeth at the thought. He doesn’t want Nightmare here for this. He doesn’t! So, why does the idea make heat stir in his pelvis?

Anticipation. That’s it. His brother wouldn’t even want Dream in that way. Why bother getting his hopes up for something that’s impossible?

He tugs on Cross’s hand to draw his gaze back to him (and banish any thoughts of Nightmare in his bed from mind). He smiles shakily and almost convinces himself that Cross buys it. The decreasing levels of excitement in Cross’s soul suggest otherwise, but Dream can fix that. It’s the one thing he’s always been good at.

“Join me?” He asks because he doesn’t want to push Cross into any greater discomfort than necessary. This is meant to be fun, a little method to chase the edge away.

Cross’s expression is slightly harder to read with his mouth hidden behind his turtleneck, but after a moment, something passes in his eyes, and he nods. He squeezes Dream’s hand then peels off his heavy white coat. The turtleneck follows shortly afterward, pooling at their feet. Cross meets his eyes and sees something that makes his cocky smirk return. He takes Dream’s hands in his own, lays them on top of his iliac crests. Then, with precise slowness he crawls onto Dream’s lap, knees firmly bracketing his thighs.

Dream grins wide. Cross truly is beautiful to look at. The scars across his rib cage and arms demand worship as Dream slides his gloved hands along them with reverence. He’s swiftly reminded of his own overdressed state and tosses one glove to the side to join the clothes littering the floor. Before he can tug off the other one, he looks back at Cross’s hungry stare, and something like that niggling mischievousness rears its head again.

He holds the gloved hand in front of Cross’s steady grin.

“Would you like to do the honors?”

Cross huffs goodnaturedly, but he takes the tip of the glove in his teeth and slowly pulls it off, all the while never looking away from Dream. The expression on his face is entirely indecent, and Dream wouldn’t have it any other way. This is all his.

The glove joins its match on the floor, and Cross interlocks his hands with Dream’s. His smile is soft, softer than what he allows the other inhabitants of the castle to see. He leans in, presses a toothy kiss to Dream’s cheek and whispers, “Take the rest of your damn clothes off.”

Dream laughs. Fair point.

Through a flurry of limbs and occasional (accidental) elbowing, Dream manages to shuck off his sleeves and scarf as well as his cloak, leaving his upper half bare. Cross leans down and drags a tongue up Dream’s sternum. Dream’s bones shake with every breath, eyes riveted on the other’s clever tongue. He fingers the vertebrae near the base of Cross’s neck. Cross moans into his chest and bites a rib in retaliation.

The chilly morning air rises as they grind against each other, desperately palming bare bone. Dream rakes one hand down the back of Cross’s ribcage and feels more than hears the gasp that is choked out in response.

The magic in his pelvis is eager to form. He can feel it swirling impatiently at his pubic symphysis, and he pulls back from Cross’s dogged attention, leaning as far away as the back of the throne will allow. Cross traps him against it with a hand planted firmly on his sternum, nipping at Dream’s exposed throat as he tilts his head and moans.

“Cross, we gotta…. hnng… wait a second.”

With the most benevolent mercy, Cross leans away. His eyelights are blown wide, and he’s breathing hard. Dream does his best to ignore the heat that surges between his legs in response and bites back a whimper.

“It’d probably help if we got rid of pants,” he says shakily.

Cross snickers, but instead of doing the logical thing by climbing off Dream so that he can remove said pants, he grinds against his lap. The heated magic in Dream’s pelvis is helpless to the attention, and it snaps into existence in an overwhelming rush that has Dream’s skull thunking painfully against the throne.

Cross hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of Dream’s pants and peels them back just far enough to expose the dripping yellow magic to the cold air. Dream hisses, and Cross wraps a slender hand around his cock. He sets a slow, rolling pace, dragging his thumb over the slit on every stroke.

It’s an automatic reaction to grab onto Cross’s hips. The long strokes already feel like they’re not enough, heat burgeoning from Dream’s soul and spreading over every single inch of his body. He lets out something close to a whine and hears Cross laugh along his neck.

“How’s it feel?” Cross asks. Like he even needs to bother. This is supposed to be Dream’s turn making a mess of him, not the other way around, but it feels absolutely wonderful to yield his control. Just for a moment, he’ll let Cross have his fun.

The hand clenches at the base of his cock. His magic feels thoroughly used, slickened with arousal as Cross allows it to drip down and spread across his wet fingers. His wandering touch slides up and toys with the slit, and Dream suddenly moans loud in response.

The sound ricochets around the room, and they both freeze, daring not to breathe as they wait. The echo dies, but the seconds following afterward seem to slowly drag on while they sit in trembling anticipation. There are no approaching footsteps, no distant sound in the halls beyond the throne room to suggest someone might have heard.

Still. They can’t afford to be careless. Dream meets Cross’s glare and shrugs apologetically. He grins for good measure.

“Oops?”

With a heavy sigh, Cross meets him halfway for a kiss. Dream is more than aware of the hand still loosely curled around the head of his dick, but Cross doesn’t move it for now. Instead, he diverts all of his attention to tasting Dream, slipping his tongue into his mouth with a hum. Dream allows his head to tilt to the side and enjoys the mindless ease of making out with Cross. He can feel his pounding soul settling.

“Try not to be so loud,” Cross says against his mouth. He gives Dream a final toothy kiss and flashes a fond smile at him. “That was close.”

“Sorry,” Dream says. He can’t exactly help it. Cross has very clever hands, and the smug bastard is more than aware of it, too.

Dream grips the pants that Cross is still wearing and tugs. “This needs to come off.”

He helps Cross slide off his lap (doing his best to ignore the final tender squeeze given to his dick), and Cross sets aside both boots and pants. He stands before Dream, completely bare, and holds his hands up as if to say _“what do you think,”_ but the pretty purple blush burning across his face gives away his shyness.

“Beautiful,” Dream replies to the unspoken question. How could he not with the frail sunlight catching the tips of Cross’s collarbones, and his body seeming to glow in the dark expanse of the empty throne room. The sun never shines any brighter than this, tampered with in such a strange way that it almost seems to imitate the moon. Even with the poor light, Cross is more than gorgeous here, exposed to Dream, and Dream is going to savor all of him.

Cross gives him a crooked smile and sits atop Dream’s clothed thighs once more. Dream could bother to finish undressing, but they’ve already wasted enough time, and there’s no telling when the others might begin to stir. He cradles Cross’s warm form in his hands and lavishes him with the same attention that’d been given to his sternum, drinking in the taste of his scarred bones with delight.

He can feel the trembling in Cross’s thighs as he kneels, and Dream wraps a hand around one of his legs to keep him steady. His tongue finds the gaps of Cross’s ribs. The gasp above his head is more than flattering, and he pushes his tongue as far as he can in the crevice.

Gentle fingers trace along his skull, rubbing his crown. Dream pauses. No one has ever touched it before, not since Nightmare when he still bore his. The touch feels foreign—unwelcome. Dream isn’t entirely sure why, but his crown feels sacred, like it is meant for one person’s hands and one person alone.

He shouldn’t be thinking about Nightmare as much as he is right now, but the memory flashes through his mind—the two of them sitting beneath the tree, laughingly snatching each other’s crowns and placing them on top of their heads, pretending to swap places—

Dream inhales sharp, and he yanks his head back. He meets Cross’s concerned expression with an apologetic frown, but he can’t bring himself to explain. Not now, if ever. Centuries have passed, and the wound is still fresh.

Better to distract him before Cross turns suspicious. He places a firm hand on the back of his neck and pulls him in, swallowing the question he can feel on Cross’s tongue. Cross sighs heavily, but he closes his eyes and sinks into the kiss, slowly lowering himself onto Dream’s lap and reawakening the need that Dream feels between his legs. They slowly begin to grind against each other once more, and after a sharp thrust, Dream feels wet heat slide along his cock. He moans into the kiss, brow furrowing, and slips a hand down between them to trace the tips of his fingers along the pussy Cross formed for him. It’s already dripping, and he rubs softly against the clit. Cross’s moan is relieved as he gasps against Dream’s mouth like he’s starved for air.

With one hand latched tightly around Cross’s hip, Dream uses the other to nudge aside the lips of Cross’s pussy and slip two fingers inside. He slides them in and out gently at first then harder as Cross fights the grip at his pelvis and tries to rock back into Dream’s fingers.

The image seated on top of him is lovely. Cross chases the sensation of Dream’s thrusting fingers with all the strength he has. Determined not to let him steer yet again, Dream squeezes painfully tight around Cross’s pelvis, and Cross’s hips stutter. His fingers curve around Dream’s shoulders, digging into his shoulder blades, and he bites back a moan. His expression is so carefully concentrated, struggling to keep quiet.

“Look at you,” Dream hears himself sigh. Seeing Cross like this is more than a gift. He can’t fathom how he has become so lucky, and he rewards the other with a pointed curling of his fingers inside of him. Cross whimpers, a quiet sound that makes Dream’s magic flare.

Patience was never one of his stronger traits. He pulls his fingers out with a noisy slick that seems louder in the yawning throne room. Cross shudders and opens his eyes, quick to aim a hungry grin his way.

“C’mon, I’m good enough now. ‘m ready.”

Dreams tugs him forward and does his best to ignore the delighted smirk on Cross’s face.

“In case you forgot, _I’m_ the one who says when you’re ready and when you’re not.” He lifts a brow at Cross’s swiftly unimpressed scowl and positions him over his dick.

“Fortunately for you,” Dream says with a wink, “I‘m impatient.”

He pulls Cross down, forcing him to take all of him in one thrust. Cross’s mouth drags open, but no sound comes out. His face is one of beautiful agony, and with a pleased grin, Dream lifts him up and then sets a steady, rough pace, driving up into him again and again. He’s determined to pry the begging past Cross’s teeth if he has to spend all damn day doing so, secrecy be damned. Let the whole castle hear them; he doesn’t care. Cross has all of his attention for now, and he’s the only one that matters.

Cross begins to shudder in his arms, but when he looks at Dream again, there is surprised delight written in his eyes. He drops his head again at another sharp thrust and willfully resigns all control to Dream. His hands remain fastened around Dream’s shoulders, likely tight enough to leave marks, and Dream is helpless to the arousal that shoots through him.

Lost in the sensations as he is, Dream almost doesn’t feel the pressure that seems to wrap around his spine, curling tight and squeezing with immense power. He lets out a moan and leans his head back at the force of Cross’s tight grasp.

The pressure continues to lengthen and slide up, however, spiraling along his spine, and he only has a dazed moment to open his eyes.

“H— what—”

Cross suddenly halts in his jerky movements, settling on Dream’s lap with such abruptness that their pelvises clack together painfully. He clenches tight around Dream. The groan that escapes Cross doesn’t exactly sound like one of pain, but Dream isn’t sure. They stare at each other blearily, panting in the heated space between them.

Dream attempts to ask why he’s stopped, but the pressure against his spine changes to a deep ache that makes him feel so very fragile in that moment. He gasps just as Cross lets out an equally pained wheeze. Dream’s eyes trail down to his spine to confirm his fear. A cold sweat blooms along Dream’s forehead at the sight of a dripping tentacle, one twisted around Cross’s spine and one squeezing his own.

His soul beats as if it will escape his chest. Realization turns to dread. No doubt Nightmare is relishing in the negativity flowing from them both.

“I know I have been so very lenient in letting you stay here, brother.” The voice comes from behind his head, just out of sight next to the throne. It’s falsely pleasant. “So pardon me if I’m intruding, but I simply must ask.”

The tentacle writhing around Dream’s spine clenches again, and agony twists Dream’s expression. He hears Cross cry out, and through blurry tears, he sees Nightmare step from the throne’s shadow, a deep grimace set across his face. He glowers at Dream, and Dream recoils in his seat as much as he can with the tentacle holding him hostage. The rage burning in his brother’s eyelight brings an uncontrollable rattle to his bones.

“I’ll ask this and only once.” Nightmare slams a hand against the back of the throne over Dream’s head, causing Dream to flinch. He feels Cross do the same. Nightmare closes the space between them, his viscous form flowing more rapidly and dripping along the armrest. His face hovers right in front of Dream’s.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing on _my_ fucking thone?!”

Dream can’t stop the whimper that escapes. He’d like to say that he’s never been frightened by his brother, but that would be the farthest thing from the truth. Nightmare terrifies him in a way that no one else ever has. As his fear starts to heighten, he sees the moment his brother reads his negativity, and a slow, cruel grin spreads across Nightmare’s face. The tentacle at Dream’s spine loosens ever so slightly.

“Oh? I apologize. Was I interrupting something important?”

His single eyelight trails down to where Dream and Cross are connected, and his teeth shine in the dark.

“My mistake,” he croons, voice sickly sweet.

Dream’s face burns. As he squirms in place to escape, the tentacle at his spine squeezes tight, sending sharp bursts of pain through his body. He feels it slither close to his soul, and he freezes. Petrified, he glances at Cross, but the other skeleton isn’t looking at him. His eyes are a furious glare meant only for Nightmare, hunched over under the weight of the magic wrapped around his throat, the glow of an attack beginning to spark in his hand.

Nightmare looks unvexed. He doesn’t move an inch, but Dream can hear the wriggling of the tentacle as it winds even tighter around Cross’s vertebrae. The creak of bone that follows is extremely alarming.

“Fuck,” Cross hisses, back arching as he strains against the tentacle. His attack flickers, hovering in that same in-between state in his hand as it tries to take shape, but it doesn’t fade. Cross continues to stare down Nightmare with a venomous hatred while Nightmare watches his meager struggle with a bored expression.

“You bitch,” Cross spits, seething.

The grin on Nightmare’s face stretches, merciless. Dream can see the rage boiling within his brother at Cross’s words, and Nightmare flicks a hand at the tentacle constricting Cross’s spine. There’s definitely the sound of bone creaking.

Cross screams.

“Stop it!” Dream yells, digging his fingers into the tentacle trapping him. “Brother, let him go!”

Nightmare’s eyelight lazily focuses on him, but he clearly doesn’t release Cross from the life-threatening grip.

Dream can feel his sockets watering. If only he wasn’t so helpless all the time when it comes to Nightmare.

“Please,” he begs softly. He doesn’t want to imagine what will happen if Nightmare doesn’t concede.

The weight of that stare demands his attention. He pleads through his expression, silently begging Nightmare to listen. A long moment passes, and with an idea forming in his head, he taps onto the door of his brother’s mind. Surprisingly, Nightmare grants him entry, eyelight narrowing.

_Night, please. Please let him go. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Just let him go._

Ages have passed since he last established a telepathic connection with his brother. Even with the corruption seeped into every facet of Nightmare’s mind, Dream can still recognize the coolness of his thoughts through their link. He can’t read Night’s thoughts. No, he would never allow that. But he can feel him hear his request in that intimately foreign way, and for a moment, it’s like they are back at home and can understand each other once more.

_Please, brother._

Nightmare frowns at him. Dream holds his breath and becomes acutely aware once more of the tentacle coiled around his spine, scant space between it and his soul. It’s as much of a threat as it is not. Nightmare doesn’t have him in a death grip, but the subtle weaving of the tentacle along his sensitive vertebrae is more than a reminder that he could be crushed within a second if things go wrong, if he steps out of line.

The telepathic connection snaps apart. Nightmare faces him head on, and simultaneously Cross lets out a gasp for air, slouching as the tentacle loosens slightly.

“You’re sorry?” Nightmare demands. “Sorry for what, brother? For defacing my throne? For making a mockery of my hospitality? Is that what you’re sorry for?”

Even as he’s speaking, another set of tentacles twist around Cross’s arms and wrists and pull them behind his back as they twine together. A chill spreads across Dream’s soul at his brother’s icy tone. With agonizing slowness, he gentles his grip on the tentacle shifting against his own spine. A quiet plea.

“Night…”

“Don’t fucking suck up to him, Dream,” Cross bites out, drawing Nightmare’s attention. He’s shaking, nearly curled into a ball on Dream’s lap from the painful tension in his arms and at his neck, trembling from either pain or fury. Dream doesn’t know. He can sense the swirl of positivity almost entirely leached from Cross’s soul, and the thought of whatever reckless thing Cross might do or say has him tightening his hold on Cross’s hip.

This isn’t the time for heroics. Dream knows his brother well.

“You seem to have forgotten that pets don’t talk,” Nightmare says evenly. Cross growls at him and is silenced as tentacle suddenly shoves into his mouth.

“Now be a good boy and heel.”

“Nightmare, listen! We didn’t mean to— We were just having fun! It was just a dare!”

The cold fury fixates back on him. Despite his terror, Dream can’t help but marvel at how much power Nightmare can exude with a single stare. The fright mixes with awe in a perfect concoction meant to quell him as he’s unable to look away.

His mouth snaps shut.

He can hear Cross raggedly breathing around the tentacle.

The longer Nightmare glares at him, the higher Dream’s fear ascends. He feels like he’s gasping for air as well, and in the midst of it all, he catches a mental glimpse of what he and Cross must look like right now. The embarrassment of being caught pants down with Cross in his lap rears its head. Somehow, his nakedness didn’t even occur to him until now. It would seem that being on the receiving end of his brother’s attention can effectively make him squirm because his magic is still impossibly formed and hard. Dream reasurres himself it’s from remaining buried inside the wet heat of Cross’s pussy, which tightens around him every so often.

Nightmare’s cruel grin slowly blooms again.

“Do I frighten you, brother? Do I make you uneasy?”

He steps closer, towering over Dream’s shaking form.

“Do I make your soul race? Is that the delicacy of your fear I taste in the air?”

Dream exhales careful and slow, fingers digging into the tentacle moving against his spine once more. The dexterity of it is becoming more apparent.

With a calmness contradicting the tension of the room, Nightmare lowers his face next to Dream’s. His grin is impossibly wide.

“Or maybe…it’s not fear I taste. No. Perhaps...perhaps it is not your fear that permeates this air, dear brother, but it is your arousal instead.”

Dream’s breath hitches. No, he can’t possibly—

He feels the horror flash across his face as Nightmare laughs at him. His brother leans in, grin pressing against his neck and nuzzling. Something soft and wet brushes his throat. It flicks along his spine with the lightest touch, cold in a way that startles him. In a flash, the feeling is gone, replaced with the swift warning of the tentacle that pulses around his spine just beneath his soul.

“Oh, Dream…” Nightmare mockingly chides as he pulls away not nearly far enough. Delight and malice are rich in his eyelight. “Did you think I didn’t know? That I wouldn’t find out? You are as dull-witted as the day I turned you to stone.”

Cross gargles out something that is almost certainly an insult, and Dream’s eyes dart toward him, alarmed. He looks like he’s not entirely deprived of air, and being choked wouldn’t kill Cross anyways despite it being a very unpleasant sensation. As long as Cross’s spine doesn’t crack under the pressure of Nightmare’s tentacle and he can still breathe, he’ll be fine, though he’ll be helpless to do little else but claw at the magic choking him. And yet—

His head is tugged to face Nightmare again, the cold press of Nightmare’s hand on his chin unnerving. He can feel the magic dripping against his face, and he’s not sure if it’s a result of his brother’s anger or something else. The look in Nightmare’s eyelight captivates him, and as Dream stares at him, a kind of headiness fills his senses, making his head feel light and depriving him of any other thought but giving his brother his undivided attention.

Nightmare smiles at him, pleased. Its intent is hardly pleasant, though, and the sight of the cruelty in his grin has Dream’s fear steadily increasing. No doubt Nightmare can sense his mounting fear, but neither of them mention it.

He’s still so close, filling Dream’s vision, demanding subservience. The positivity in Dream’s soul quivers.

Nightmare studies him intently. There’s a feeling that washes over Dream, like he’s being dissected and every word of truth about his soul is on display. He’s long since become intimately acquainted with the strength of his brother’s power, and in Nightmare’s castle, he is unmatched. Dream feels his brother read his fears as if they were on a book in front of him, and with the sensation comes the terrifying realization that’s he’s being _exposed_, that Nightmare is taking everything from the privacy of his mind as he chooses. Dream attempts to look away and finds he can’t. His brother holds his attention, and the hand on his chin is firm.

The panic rises in his chest, and Nightmare drinks it down like wine.

A hum fills the silence. An omen. Nothing good ever follows when Nightmare is contemplative.

“You hold so much fear, brother,” Nightmare says softly. His breath fans across Dream’s face. “Some of it even sits in the back of your mind like a virus, waiting to spread and overwhelm you the moment your guard is down. But what’s more shocking is that this fear that has festered in your mind for so long seems to be related to this very moment right now.”

Nightmare shifts even closer, his words whispered like a secret. “Am I truly your worst nightmare, Dream?”

“You are my brother, Nightmare,” Dream says haltingly, voice catching. His soul still feels like it’s pulsing with alarm as he struggles to keep his breaths calm. “You know I’ve always loved you.”

“Interesting choice of words,” Nightmare says with amusement.

Dream stops breathing. He stares with wide-eyed alarm as he realizes he just stepped into the trap Nightmare so cleverly laid out for him.

“And if you love me so much, brother, perhaps you can clarify some things.” Nightmare leans back a touch, releasing his face, and smirking at Cross whose expression has long since contorted to one of pain.

“Night—”

Nightmare hushes him, but it’s not brusque. The gleam in his eyelight promises pain. Or perhaps it is something else. The tentacle writhes along Dream’s spine, teasing the sensitive gaps in his ribs where the bones connect to his sternum. Dream clenches his teeth before he can make a sound.

“Perhaps you chose not to say anything about your crippling fear because you were concerned about what would come of it,” Nightmare says, expression thoughtful as he watches Cross’s struggles. “Were you afraid your friends would find out? That they would treat you differently, shun you? Or maybe you were fearful of what this would do to your beloved Cross if you ever told him?”

Nightmare’s grin stretches wide, and he looks back at Dream.

“No? That’s not it either? Or maybe those are all rational fears, but they’re not the most prominent.”

Within a blink, Nightmare’s hands slam against the back of the throne on either side of Dream’s skull, his face inches away from his. This time his expression isn’t twisted with anger.

This time…there’s excitement. The thrill of the hunt. Dream would recognize that damnable look anywhere, and Nightmare is so close, surrounding Dream on all sides so that he’s practically leaning over him, ensuring that Cross is the farthest thing from mind and view.

Dream closes his eyes as Nightmare edges even closer.

With his voice pitched low as if they were embracing, Nightmare says, “Yes, there’s something more. A most notable reason for your little denial.”

The tentacle is directly underneath Dream’s soul now. He can sense it as if it were already touching the core of him. Dream dares not to move, frozen with terror and longing and a sharp heat that flows through his body and coils in his pelvis. There is no other name for it but desire, and he feels the blush across his face burn hotter. Nightmare croons softly in false sympathy.

“Oh, my dear brother. Were you really afraid I would turn you away? After all I’ve done for you? That I wouldn’t want you as surely as your soul calls out for me, the desire that flows through you, yearning for my touch to satisfy that which you need?”

Something else begins to wind up his thigh. It curls around his iliac crest, gently squeezing like a reassurance before it then reaches out and touches his formed magic, circling with agonizing slowness around where Cross’s pussy is still clamped tight around Dream’s dick.

The whimper slips through without his approval.

“Dream…” Nightmare sighs, and he lays a careful hand on Dream’s cheek. Dream finally recognizes the other emotion he sees in his brother’s eyelight. Hunger. Nightmare’s eye shines with desire that is focused wholly on him. He feels gutted by the weight of that stare filled with such promise, and unresisting to that pull, he leans in just a touch.

“You have been mine from the moment I laid eyes on you,” Nightmare says. “Of course I shall have you, and I will savor every delicate inch of your body as you yield to me.”

The words drag down Dream’s spine like fingers, wrenching a violent shiver from him even as Nightmare closes the distance and licks along Dream’s closed teeth. He parts them and greedily accepts the taste of Nightmare’s tongue, humming into his mouth. Dream grasps onto his brother’s shoulders and pulls him in tight. His head is spinning, dizzy under the attention Nightmare lavishes him, and he moans into the kiss. The tentacle wrapped around his magic squeezes, and a guttural groan from Cross echoes behind them.

Dream has enough mind to pull back, to stop this before it turns into something he can’t control, but he doesn’t get far when Nightmare places a hand on the back of his head and tugs him close again. His scent is invasive, filling Dream’s senses, and with a sigh, he tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss. Nightmare purrs his approval.

Under his brother’s touch, he feels his dick ache with newly awakened arousal, and the spasms of Cross’s pussy drive Dream wild. His breath is stolen from him, but with Nightmare’s tongue sliding against his, Dream can’t be bothered. He feels the tentacle around his dick move again, brushing against the lips of Cross’s pussy, and the resounding muffled moan isn’t one of pain. Dream’s hips jerk, chasing that heat, and the tightness clutching at him drags the noise past his teeth. Nightmare claims it as his own, and his grin presses against Dream as they kiss.

He cracks open his eyes and finds Nightmare staring intently at him, eyelight dilated. Nightmare flicks his tongue playfully along the roof of Dream’s mouth, and Dream retaliates with a nip, not nearly hard enough to hurt too badly. His brother’s eye narrows, but the pleased look lingers.

A feeling reminiscent of a hand brushing against his back with soft familiarity startles him, but he recognizes the initiated connection. He cracks open the door of his mind and allows Nightmare’s voice to seep in, treacherously soothing.

_For so long I have neglected you_, he hears Nightmare say. His stare does not waver as he speaks. _No longer shall I deprive you of what you need, brother. I promise you will come undone by my hand, and I will bask in the beautiful rhapsody you make as I make you come again and again until you know nothing but my touch._

Dream gapes at him, snared wholly by Nightmare’s words and the hunger that stares back at him. He swallows reflexively around Nightmare’s tongue, a mix of their saliva coating his throat. It feels wonderfully cool, and heat flares through his bones in response. He tightens his grip on his brother as if that will do him any good.

_Brother_, Nightmare says, drawing him in. He searches Dream’s eyes, and whatever he sees causes his breath to sigh heavily with want and the assurance of receiving something that he has long awaited. He hums against Dream’s mouth, savoring the taste of Dream on his tongue.

_Brother_, he repeats, the grin clear even in his voice, and with utter conviction, he seals the promise.

_I’m going to make you scream my name._

Dream’s hips stutter at the words, thrusting up into Cross’s heat to satisfy the painful arousal centered in his magic. His groan is muffled but loud as he kisses Nightmare with renewed fervour. He longs to just grab onto Cross and drive up into him again and again, pulling his willing body onto his dick to use for his own pleasure. Dream clenches his eyes shut, a pathetic whine escaping him as he mewls into the shared kiss. Nightmare’s hands cradle either side of his skull, breathing just as rapidly as him, and with a final lingering nuzzle against Dream’s teeth, he pulls away.

His hands linger as they frame Dream’s face. Dream is blinded by the wicked grin that he sees, concerning in its own right as the smugness sharpens with the certainty of one who has him exactly where he wants. A moment later the tentacle behind his ribs connects with his soul, dragging wetly across the surface.

Dream shouts, pleasure coursing through his very being, concentrated nowhere and everywhere, and setting his nerves on fire. The heat flares from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers and the heels of his feet as he grinds them against the floor with the overwhelming tide of pleasure rushing through him, and it pulses again and again as the tentacle glides along his dripping soul.

It’s intense beyond all measure, beyond anything he’s ever experienced, winding him tighter and tighter while his legs spread and his head drops back, hips unconsciously thrusting to chase more of that heat. He can feel tears build in his eyes as he moans without restraint. The tentacle drags along the cleft of his soul, setting an agonizing pace as it rocks back and forth, spiraling Dream closer and closer to that edge in jaw-dropping speed. He’s unable to focus on anything but the clever motion of magic wrapping around his essence, feeling his mouth well with saliva as it hangs open in disbelief.

It’s indescribable heat, designed to make him feel so, so _good_, and the intent surges. The tentacle seems to double its efforts as it strokes faster, and after just a few minutes of perfect, overwhelming stimulation, Dream thrusts up into Cross’s pussy and comes, his voice cracking with a loud yell.

The pleasure wracks his entire being. Warmth fills every single crevice, touches every sensitive part of his body. It leaves him shaking uncontrollably, unable to cope with the sensations, and all his body can sing for is _more, more, more!_ As he gasps for air that isn’t there, his soul throbs like a blossoming bruise—but it doesn’t hurt. Dream feels amazing. Already, his body demands a repeat, the shudders steadily increasing. His head sags, tears spilling down his cheeks as the tentacle against his soul finally lets go and slides away.

Gentle hands settle on his back as Nightmare tugs Dream to his chest. Once the ringing Dream hears in his skull dies down, the quiet hushing from his brother replaces it, easing him into a lull in conjunction with the hand stroking his head.

Another moment passes as Dream gasps dizzily. He can’t fully comprehend what just happened, the feeling so raw and powerful that it’s shaken him to his core, and astonishingly, he feels no satisfaction at all. His cock is still achingly hard as if he didn’t come at all, twitching as Cross rocks against him in subtle, small thrusts that he doesn’t seem to be entirely mindful of.

Dream realizes his hands are still digging gouges into Nightmare’s back, and he uncurls them, pain shooting through the stiff joints.

He leans back, and blinks up at the blurred image of his brother. Nightmare wipes away the tears on his cheeks, and if Dream didn’t know any better, he’d mistake Nightmare’s smile as kind.

“Better?” Nightmare croons, but he likely knows the answer to his own question. The orgasm Dream just experienced, intense as it was, has only left him yearning, and he craves Nightmare’s touch like he never has before, not even in the late nights when he touched himself to the thought of his brother’s hands replacing his own, thrusting inside of him and spreading him open.

Nightmare laughs softly. It’s not an inviting sound. Dream finds himself drawn toward Nightmare even as his brother leans away, stepping back from the throne. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket and grins with the look of a thoroughly pleased man.

Dream’s attention slides to Cross who sags under the weight of Nightmare’s magic.

It’s at this moment that Dream sees the tentacle coiled around their combined magic and pressed firmly against Cross’s clit. It rubs in a tortuous side to side motion, and Dream feels his dick throb with sympathetic arousal.

Cross’s breaths are thin, reedy things, barely there. His eyes are closed. His jaw must ache, locked around the tentacle shoved past his teeth. Dream reaches out and lays a hand against Cross’s chest, another on his cheek. Cross’s expression flickers, and when he opens his eyes, Dream inhales sharply at the heated look in them.

It doesn’t excuse what Nightmare has done, not with this abuse of power and lack of negotiation, but maybe… If Cross is interested—

“Nightmare,” Dream says, attempting to slip a hint of steel into his voice even as it still shakes from the aftershocks. “Let him go now. Please.”

He narrows his eyes at his brother to telegraph his angry concern. Nightmare meets his glower, impassive.

“I’m disinclined to entertain your requests, brother. Or did you already forget on whose throne you’re sitting or why you’re in this mess to begin with?”

Dream flushes, but he refuses to back down. He will not let Nightmare hurt his friends, no matter what games he thinks he’s playing. Cross’s struggles have all but faded, but he looks Dream in the eye and grinds down.

Dream draws in a sharp breath. Musters courage he doesn’t quite feel when he’s like this, exposed. The sound of his own pleasured cries echo in his mind, and he flushes at the thought that he came to the unusually gentle touch of his brother’s tentacle on his soul. His face is burning, but this isn’t the time to focus on that now.

He tries again and says, “I’ve already apologized, Nightmare. What more do you want?”

His brother settles back on his heels. After a long minute of silence, a wry smirk blooms in response. Dream feels his soul shudder even as he furrows his brow.

“I can think of a number of things,” Nightmare purrs. “But there is something specific in mind that might interest you.”

Nightmare steps around the side of the throne and behind Cross, hooking his chin over his shoulder as he presses against his back and bound hands. Cross utters a muffled complaint, more sound than words. The sly grin aimed at Dream stretches in challenge.

He reaches around Cross, drags a careful hand along the tentacle situated at Cross’s mound, and with the tips of his fingers, he kneads it against Cross’s clit.

Cross flinches, a moan shuddering out. Dream’s breath hitches, hands automatically settling on his hips to steady him.

“Want me to stop?” Nightmare asks. He waits a moment, all the while assisting the tentacle as it rubs against Cross’s pussy. Cross’s strained breaths increase.

Nightmare’s smirk is triumphant. “No? Would you perhaps like something more? Tell me, brother. You already seem so certain of what you want.”

“I don’t—” Dream stutters. “I don’t know—”

“Are you sure? Because I received quite a lovely assortment of ideas from your own thoughts.”

“N-Nightmare, please…”

His brother pauses for a second, satisfaction prominent in the corner of his grin. Dream’s hands clench tighter around Cross’s hips, uncertain. He glances at him, and for all the lack of words Cross is able to say at the moment, his face mirrors the same desire that Dream feels in his.

“I have a proposition for you, Dream,” Nightmare continues. “And I’m interested to hear a second opinion as well.”

At the same moment as the tentacle at Cross’s neck lets go and slips out of his mouth, the one at his clit slips to the side, and Nightmare’s fingers replace it, rubbing precise circles and teasing back the hood.

Cross’s reedy gasp turns into a moan, and his head drops back against Nightmare’s shoulder.

“F-fuck, Nigh—”

“Shh,” Nightmare soothes, relentless in his pursuit to render Cross helpless in Dream’s lap.

With every teasing swipe on his clit, Cross clamps down on Dream so perfectly _tight_. Dream rests his head against Cross’s chest, teeth setting on his collarbone to muffle his groan. The smooth glide of his pussy as he rides Dream with deliberate slowness continues to drive him crazy. He hisses wetly through his teeth and then soothes the bite with the drag of his tongue. All higher functions are fleeing him, and he knows Nightmare can sense it.

He looks up and finds his brother watching him with avid hunger, and just underneath that is something soft and warm. The look is gone in a flash, though, causing Dream’s brow to furrow.

He wants to ask Nightmare what he’s planning, but he has a very strong inkling of what to expect. The morning is going to end with the same result no matter what; it only depends on just how creative his brother decides to make the journey there.

_I’m going to make you scream my name._

Dream shudders at the thought of Nightmare’s promise. He supposes some part of him should be repulsed, angered even at the treatment he and Cross have received. Instead, his body only responds with excited anticipation. There’s no denying he wants Nightmare. Realizing that his brother has yearned for him in turn is an entirely new revelation that promises to fuel his libido.

Cross’s chest shivers under the persistent talent of Nightmare’s magic caressing his mound, and Dream feels his bones rattle. He looks away from his brother for now and turns his attention to swallowing Cross’s shaky breaths as he pulls him in a needy kiss. Cross jerks as if he wants to hold Dream close, but the grip Nightmare has on his hands and arms holds fast. Cross sighs against Dream’s mouth, and Dream taps into his mind for a brief moment.

_Is this ok? Are you sure you want to go along with this?_ he asks. The positivity has begun to return to Cross’s soul, having flared as Nightmare began to touch them both, and the threat of a battle in the throne room faded away. Still, Dream wants to hear Cross’s own consent before they stumble too far into something neither of them are agreed upon.

A moment of silence like Cross is contemplating his answer to make sure that he is certain of his own desires. It’s not long before he melts against Dream, tongue playfully flicking his, as he thinks back, _Yes._

Dream hums his pleasure, but before he can retreat from Cross’s mind, the enthusiasm surges.

_Yes, fuck yes, anything to keep going, Dream, fuck, please—_

The connection severs before Dream can become too lost in Cross’s own desire, but the eagerness has already translated to his own body, and he responds in accord. He deepens the kiss, fully aware of the show he and Cross are putting on for Nightmare, and a flash of heat at the thought of pleasing his brother at the sight of them settles in the base of his spine. His hands savor the arch of Cross’s spine as he slides them up, palming the vertebrae that is scarred in some places.

The gentle rocking on his dick suddenly stops, and Cross groans his frustration. Dream breaks the kiss, panting. He finds Nightmare’s hands have settled where his used to rest on Cross’s hips.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” he says, clearly referring to the silent exchange Dream and Cross just shared, “It seems only fitting that if you’re going to worship at my throne, you should also give reverence to the king who sits upon it. So—”

Abruptly, he releases them altogether, his tentacles vanishing into thin air. Dream stares at him in bewilderment.

Nightmare grins wide and beautiful. That predatory look returns while he gazes upon them, and as he shifts, stepping perfectly into the ray of faint morning light that catches on his skull just right, Dream startles at the unmistakable, shocking hint of familiar gold that sits upon his head. It’s gone just as quickly when the viscous nature of Nightmare’s form hides it from view once more. Dream’s eyes widen, and his breath catches with a sharp pain that resonates in his soul. He’s amazed that he didn’t see it sooner.

Nightmare fixes him with a knowing look, his grin tilted.

“Shall we begin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: The dubious consent pertains to when Nightmare appears in the fic and continues until Cross has consented along with Dream towards the end of the chapter. Despite seeming to be into the proceedings, Cross is unable to voice his consent until the end of the fic, long after Nightmare has already begun toying with him and Dream. Even then, it is clear that Nightmare is not terribly bothered with obtaining consent here since he already knows how Dream feels about him and the situation. He lets Dream double check with Cross because it would be less hassle for Nightmare if Dream didn't have any reservations about needing to make sure Cross is equally willing to have sex with the both of them. By the end of the fic, Dream and Cross are fully onboard, and the next chapter will pick up from there.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! And thank you to everyone who has indulged my new love for this ship. Y'all are awesome.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream wants to enjoy some quality time with his brother. Cross gets caught in the middle of it.

He can’t stop staring at it.

Has it really been centuries since Dream last saw the crown atop his brother’s head? Since he last saw Nightmare unblemished by the viscous fluid that now covers his form? 

He’d been so sure that the Nightmare he knew from birth would never resurface. This corrupted version of his brother has slotted into place in such a way that Dream has long since come to accept him as he is. Nightmare is erratic and arguably uncontrolled in his anger at times, but he’s still his brother. 

He’s still Dream’s home. 

Dream has never known anything or anybody else that could so seamlessly fit into that role. Consequently, even if Nightmare himself never claims as such, Dream knows that he is as equally irreplaceable to his brother because they are the only family they’ve ever had. It’s just him and Nightmare. It’s always been that way. And there’s not a single thing Dream would do to change it.

Even still, the thought that some piece of the brother he used to know might linger has always sat in the recesses of Dream’s mind. Seeing the crown on Nightmare’s head once more reawakens those thoughts with a vengeance.

It’s covered in the unnatural ink that flows down Nightmare’s bones. With the way the gold occasionally peeks through the oily substance, Dream would almost believe that the crown was trying to break free of the corruption itself. Some old fragment of Nightmare that longs to see the light of day once more.

Dream knows he’s staring. He knows Nightmare is well-aware of his focus. But his mind can’t focus on much else. Here is something that means so much to Dream, and his brother is wearing it so casually, as if Dream is the one acting unreasonable.

His chest aches with longing.

“Dream,” his brother says, and just like that, Dream is dragged back to the present.

He meets his brother’s heavy stare for only a moment before glancing away. Ironically, Dream is the one who doesn’t want his emotions to be visible this time around. He knows Nightmare can read his soul within an instant, but it’s easier to accept that embarrassing knowledge without looking him in the eye. His brother’s own emotions are a roiling mess of possessiveness and gnawing rage that is perpetual to his nature. A flash of something else sits just beneath that, something that reaches out to Dream in an echo of times past when Nightmare was someone else. The feeling is gone before Dream can read it too closely. 

Oversaturating all of that is the smug arousal that continues to escalate the more Dream shudders before him.

It had taken some repositioning, but Nightmare now sits on the throne with Cross on his lap. Cross’s legs bracket Nightmare’s. The display is shameless, and Dream can see a trickle of his own come slipping from Cross’s cunt. He bites back a noise, shifting restlessly on his feet in front of them. Just waiting to see what Nightmare has planned. There’s not enough room for all three of them on the throne, but the picture before him steals his breath. He wants to lean forward to touch, and yet…

Something tells him to wait. He has a feeling Nightmare has planned this for a long while.

The purple flush on Cross’s face has traveled down his chest, and his cunt glistens between his legs, untouched. He stiffens when Nightmare glides his fingers along his hips.

“Relax,” Nightmare says, though his eyelight doesn’t stray from Dream. “I’ll take care of you.”

The hands at Cross’s iliac crests are so close to giving him what he needs. Nightmare nudges his legs open a bit wider, and smirks at Dream.

“Kneel.”

He doesn’t need any encouragement. Dream drops down on his knees, his eyes fixated on the dripping pussy before him. His fingers itch to touch, and his mouth wells.

An oily hand reaches down. Nightmare places three fingers on Cross’s clit and rubs slowly. The resulting moan is dragged from Cross’s throat as he tips his head back against Nightmare’s shoulder. The sound of wet magic seems unbearably loud, and a voyeuristic thrill shoots through Dream as his fists clench at his sides.

“Would you like a taste?” Nightmare’s voice is full of satisfaction as he grins down at him. Dream feels his bones jitter in place, staring wide-eyed up at them, the smug look on his brother’s face and the pleasured one on Cross’s. His teeth are clamped shut to stem the sounds slipping through, his breathing laborious.

Nightmare rubs a bit faster, and Cross groans.

“Dream,” he begs, his heavily lidded gaze imploring and silently trying to convey his need.

When Nightmare abruptly stops, Dream is almost distracted by the way Cross tilts his hips forward in desperation. A tentacle slipping underneath Dream’s chin and tugging his face upward draws his gaze from the beautiful image that Cross presents. Nightmare gives him a knowing look, which is when he realizes his brother is waiting for an answer. 

“I—” He swallows the reflexive spit in his mouth. Memories of how often Nightmare has enforced manners in the lives of his gang and Dream flash by. The encouraging anticipation in his brother’s eyelight helps Dream force the words out in a whisper as he says, “Yes, please.”

Dream’s soul stirs at Nightmare’s approving smile. As the tentacle cradling his face slips away, it gives him a parting stroke along his cheek. The desire to reach out and touch Cross or Nightmare soars, and Dream can feel his phalanges aching from how tight they’ve curled into fists. 

No. He’s going to wait. He’s so close to getting what he wants, and Cross’s cunt is almost within his reach. He just has to be patient a little longer...

It’s unfortunate that Nightmare inherited all of the patience between the both of them. Even more unfortunately, his brother is fully aware of this. Dream can see the sadistic gleam in his eyelight and knows that Nightmare is reveling in how much the forced inactivity is messing up Dream. His grin widens, and Dream feels a flare of heat shoot through him at the same moment as a drop of precome slips down the side of his dick. He shifts on his knees. The pain of kneeling on the stone floor only seems to add to his desire.

“Good boy,” Nightmare says, and Dream whimpers. His hand skirts next to his dick, just a brief point of contact. A tentacle yanks his hand away a second later.

“Patience, brother,” Nightmare croons, and he shifts a little closer to the edge of the throne, nudging Cross along with him. “I won’t forget you.”

It’s a reassurance and a promise that goes beyond tending to Dream’s burning need, but he knows Nightmare might grow irate if he lingers on the thought. So Dream stifles his fondness as much as possible and leans in to claim his prize.

His tongue parts the lips of Cross’s pussy as he tastes him. Cross’s breathless sigh of relief invigorates Dream. Reaching up with one hand to spread him open a little more with his thumb, he repeats the motion, face turning slick. His tongue accidentally laps at Nightmare’s fingers where they rest on Cross’s clit, and Dream freezes in place. Something about the brief contact seems so deliciously wrong. It makes Dream’s untouched dick throb, and he chokes back a moan. He wants to curl his tongue around those fingers. 

Aware of how heated his bones feel, Dream attempts to distract himself by devoting his focus to pulling as many noises from Cross as possible. He pushes his tongue inside of his pussy and tastes the combination of their own slick. The sudden gasp of approval only strengthens the arousal thrumming through his soul. His head swims at the sensation.

“How does it feel? Good?” Nightmare asks.

Dream glances up in time to see Cross turn his flushed face away from Nightmare’s leer.

“S-stop talking already.”

Nightmare’s grin widens even further. It’s not kind. Dream should probably feel terrible for finding that as attractive as it is, but he can’t help the tide of longing that has long since overflowed. He wants this so bad.

“Why?” Nightmare presses. “Does it bother you? Do you get off to the sound of my voice? Maybe I should whisper about how wet you are even as you coat my brother’s face with your precome.”

Cross doesn’t respond, chest heaving, but his face burns bright. He meets neither Nightmare’s nor Dream’s gaze, but even if Dream couldn’t sense the tension twisting within him, the slick dripping from Cross’s pussy is a clear enough answer. 

He curls his tongue in Cross’s cunt, allowing the taste of his own come to pool in his mouth. A hum slips past his teeth, and Cross twitches. He scoots ever closer. The scent of Cross’s magic is addictive enough that Dream longs to drown in it. He pulls back a bit to catch his breath. When he drags his tongue up Cross’s folds, he brushes Nightmare’s fingers once more. The oozing nature of his brother’s form seems to settle in his mouth. He stares up at Nightmare who strips him bare with the heat in his gaze. 

“Look at him, Cross,” Nightmare demands. 

Cross’s face is still turned away, something that is remedied by one of Nightmare’ tentacles. It forces him to face Dream, and the blurred white of his dazed eyelights makes Dream’s pelvis ache. He stifles his whine against Cross’s pussy, pushing his tongue into him as far as he can.

“_ Hh_—fuck, Dream—”

“He’ll do anything to please you right now because he loves this. He loves being on his knees and licking into your wet cunt. Isn’t that right, brother?”

Dream closes his eyes. It’s becoming more and more difficult to ignore his own desperate magic that drips with precome. 

The tip of his nasal cavity bumps Nightmare’s fingers still rubbing Cross’s clit. He’s so wound up just from the sounds of Cross getting close and the points of contact between his body and theirs. Dream feels like he’s on the brink of begging. His brother is right. He loves this, and he’d do anything right now to find relief. Just the thought of Nightmare having planned for this moment between the three of them is enough to make the magic in his pelvis stir. He’s so riled up that he’s tempted to make a cunt in the hopes that maybe one of his brother’s tentacles could fill him up perfectly. 

If anything, he just wants to be touched.

His brother must be able to sense his needy wish because within the next few seconds, Dream feels an oozing tentacle curl around his dick and _ stroke_. 

He cries out at the sudden sensation. The end of the tendril idly smoothes over his slit and continues to repeat the motion, making the head of his dick throb. He can’t help but wonder what it would feel like if the thin end just dipped the slightest bit into his slit, and he bites back a moan. His gasps are pressed wetly against Cross’s cunt as he tries to breathe.

It’s too much. The touch feels amazing, giving him everything he’s craved for, and Dream whines piteously. 

He thinks he hears Cross mutter something in an awed voice, but the words are lost to him. He rests his head on Cross’s femur and shakes. He’s so close just from this.

“Are you going to come for me?”

Dream can’t tell who Nightmare’s addressing but he gives a small, imperceptible nod anyways. He’ll do anything for his brother if it means he can achieve that sweet, sweet release.

Cross swears under his breath, the slick sounds of Nightmare’s careful attention to his clit just barely audible over the tentacle’s long strokes on Dreams’ cock.

“Well, then perhaps that means it’s time for a change of pace.”

The tentacle stroking Dream comes to a sudden halt. He doesn’t recognize the noise that escapes his throat. At the same moment, Cross huffs, frustrated.

‘No, c’mon, what’re you—”

“Stop, Dream.”

Dream freezes in place, inches away from taking himself in hand. He opens his eyes and flinches under his brother’s glare. Dream can’t help but look away and instead locks onto the gutting sight of Cross’s pussy. There’s a plentiful mess puddled beneath Cross. However, his engorged clit is open to the chilled castle air, now untouched by Nightmare whose hand teasingly rests on his lower spine. 

As he leans back, Dream swiftly becomes aware of the slick covering his face and the weight of the others’s stares. He flushes. The appendage keeping his one hand restricted squeezes once in either warning or reassurance before retracting.

Cross has nothing to find relief with, and he sags against Nightmare’s chest. He’s incandescent like this, legs spread wide and bones rattling with need. 

“Nightmare,” Dream hears himself say, “_ please_, can I—” 

Even with his every thought screaming for more, he can’t help but note the pleading desperation in his voice. It’s shameless. _ He’s _shameless. Dream knows there never was any chance of saying no to this now, but realizing just how far he’s gone makes his face flare with heat. 

“I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” Nightmare says. “You’ve both done so well. And I’m going to enjoy taking you apart.”

There’s a snap of his fingers, and then Dream feels an unnatural sensation that’s similar to whenever he steps into Nightmare’s world. Darkness wraps around them, and the ground vanishes from under Dream’s knees, only to be replaced by soft sheets.

A bed. Dream looks around. His bed to be precise. And Cross is still before him, but now he’s fully sprawled against Nightmare who reclines against the headboard, pillows pressed behind him. His arms possessively rest on either side of Cross’s hips, keeping him close. 

Dream feels a sharp pang in his soul. He crawls forward, and with one hand reaches out and cups Cross’s cheekbone. They share a long kiss. Cross’s tongue slips into his mouth, and Dream groans. He feels a hand settle on the back of his neck. It’s dripping.

“There you go,” Nightmare whispers. His thumb strokes Dream’s vertebrae, and a shudder travels all the way down his spine, traveling through his sacrum and leaving a tight curl of heat in his coccyx.

He’s so sensitive that at this point, the slightest touch could set him off. As Cross kisses him hungry and deep, his hands settling on his shoulder blades, Dream shifts until his thighs bracket one of Cross’s legs and straddles it. Smooth bone rests against his dripping cock, and Dream clenches his teeth. He can’t help but grind down, the friction providing little relief.

Cross breaks the kiss, his face a lovely shade of purple, and sets his teeth on the unoccupied side of Dream’s neck. 

“_ Ahn_—”

Through blurry eyes, Dream sees Nightmare’s lidded gaze devouring the image in his lap. 

“B-brother—”

“Shh. That’s it, Dream. You’re such a lovely sight like this. I’m going to make you feel so good, and you’re going to love it. Why don’t you and I demonstrate for Cross just how well we work together?”

Cross laughs against Dream. It’s slightly bitter.

“Dream doesn’t need your help doing that. He’s more than experienced.”

Nightmare smirks at Dream. 

_ Yes, we’re both well aware of that, aren’t we, brother? After all your daring little escapades with Cross out in the open, you know you haven’t always been alone. You love having having an audience, don’t you? _

“Nightmare,” Dream gasps. He wants him to stop and to keep talking. He wants to flee the room and to press into Nightmare’s demanding hands. He wants so much, and Cross makes the decision for him.

“Will you two stop chitchatting and get on with it already?”

“By all means, if you’d rather complain, you’re welcome to just watch me fuck my little brother’s brains out while you remain untouched and begging.”

Cross stiffens, and Nightmare’s grin is lecherous.

“Oh, like that little idea, do you? What do you think, brother? Should we force him to watch?”

Dream would be able to answer in more than a string of unintelligible noises were the image not so fiercely burned into his mind’s eye. He can see it now: Cross bound to a chair just a few feet away and helpless to do little more than watch Nightmare take Dream and use him for his own pleasure, thrusting into him over and over, heedless of Dream’s cries that seem to heighten every time Nightmare fucks into him—

His whole body is flushed, and Dream can’t bring himself to meet his brother’s eye. He knows Nightmare just saw his elaborate fantasy. Dream hasn’t always had the best cap on his emotions when it comes to his brother, and sometimes his own vivid imagination just leaks over to Nightmare. He feels like sinking into the floor.

Fortunately, Nightmare spares him the humiliation.

“Mm, it’s something we could revisit. For now, _ dear _Cross, I think my brother and I shall show you the meaning of well and truly fucked.”

With deceptively gentle hands, Nightmare eases Cross up until he’s positioned over Dream’s dick. There’s no protest from Cross, but Dream still rubs reassuring circles on the inside of his shaky femurs. He feels the grip tighten on his shoulders as Cross slowly takes all of him into his heat once more. 

Dream echoes his groan, and behind him, Nightmare hums approvingly. Relishing in the feeling of being buried in Cross once more, Dream presses a brief kiss to his teeth. 

He can’t believe this is happening. He can’t believe that he’s finally living out something that he’d only ever allowed in the privacy of his thoughts. To have his brother so close to him while Cross squirms under their attention—

Dream waits for him to make the next move. He’s more than content to sit along for the ride and enjoy the sight of him quickly becoming a needy mess. Before Cross can fully catch his breath, he’s lifted once more by Nightmare’s strong grip, stopping until only the head of Dream’s dick remains inside. Dream gasps at the way Cross’s pussy clenches around him. In another blink, Nightmare slams him back down, and Dream moans loudly. Neither of them are given a reprieve as they fall into a steady rhythm, Cross meeting his forward thrusts with every jerky movement of his own hips as Nightmare controls the speed with which he takes all of Dream. 

He allows his body to take over, chasing his pleasure and the tightness squeezing every inch of his magic as Cross’s own precome lubricates their thrusts. 

Lost to the overwhelming headiness, he startles when Cross jerks against him.

“Hh- Nightmare, what’re you…”

Nightmare gently rubs two his fingers along the tip of Cross’s coccyx while the tapered end of a tendril circles the diffuse magic just behind Cross’s pussy.

“Why don’t you form something for me to fuck, Cross,” Nightmare says, voice thick. “You are doing so well, taking my brother’s cock in your tight cunt so prettily. Imagine how you’ll feel with both of us inside you.”

Cross moans, the noise unbidden like it was dragged from his soul. His rocking against Dream’s cock has slowed, likely reveling in the new sensation as Nightmare winds him up with fingers lightly teasing Cross’s coccyx, and his face is screwed in determined concentration. There’s more diffuse magic swirling just behind his pussy, flickering as if it wants to take shape but is being forcibly restrained. The clench in Cross’s jaw is almost certainly a sign of his struggling to keep his magic in check, and Dream realizes with a start that Cross is making Nightmare _ work _for it, forcing him to pull the last bits of restraint from his hands.

With teeth gritted, Cross struggles to hold onto the last vestiges of his control. He’s rebelling to the very end against Nightmare, and when he sees the look on Dream’s face, Cross sends him a crooked grin. It’s quickly undercut by Nightmare doing something particularly wonderful to his agitated magic. The groan the shudders out of him is low and satisfied.

“That’s it,” Nightmare purrs against Cross’s neck. The sound of his dripping form grows more pronounced. “Give in to me. Just let go. I’ll make you feel so good.”

Cross’s hips stutter at the words, but he manages to hold out.

Dream watches with fascinated longing as Nightmare continues to rub patiently against the back of Cross’s soft mound, encouraging the magic to form another hole. His own body throbs in sympathy at the pornographic display. Determined, Dream sets his teeth to not embarrass himself further, and—

There’s a sudden wet glide against his sacrum.

Dream yelps, accidentally thrusting harder into Cross who gasps his approval. The feeling of a tentacle tracing along his sacrum, circling at the point of his coccyx makes his pelvis flush and a slick burst of heat leak from his cock. He longs to drive up into Cross repeatedly with that same fervor, but he tamps down on his need with an iron restraint.

He glances at his brother and finds him evenly watching back, the sadistic pleasure written across his face once more. In response, the tendril cradles his sacrum and strokes it long and slow_ . _Dream moans desperately. He can tell that this one is smaller than the others, thinner than the tentacles supporting his back, and his eyes widen.

“Night,” he begs, the gratification almost too severe, too much. His brother’s eye narrows in delight as he seems to savour the broken need in Dream’s voice.

The tip of the tentacle circles one of the holes at the top of his sacrum. It drags a wet gasp from Dream before slipping inside and pulling all the way through. Dream keens at the feeling. He’s never felt anything like it as the appendage caresses him, _ writhing_, and Dream whines into Cross’s chest. He feels like he could come just from this, just the gentle tug of Nightmare’s tentacle as it weaves through his sacrum foramen, the tentacle poking at the next hole like a taunt. He holds tight onto Cross and attempts to ground himself, unable to manage little more than jerky movements of his pelvis. 

Nightmare laughs softly, and the sound goes straight to Dream’s dick. 

The appendage pushes through the hole in his sacrum, and Dream sobs. It’s good, _ it’s so good _, he’s going to come just from this—

Cross exhales raggedly. Dream peers through bleary eyes at the magic Nightmare has been rubbing and sees that another hole has formed just behind Cross’s pussy.

“That’s a good pet,” Nightmare says as he tugs his shorts down just enough.

“Wait,” Cross says, suddenly panicked, “Fuck, I didn’t say—”

Without warning, Nightmare pulls Cross onto him, filling him almost entirely. Cross yells, tears brimming along the edge of his sockets. His chest rattles with each breath, and even as he’s panting for air, Nightmare manhandles him into a better position. 

Dream struggles not to come right then. There’s such a thin wall of magic separating him and his brother, and he can feel every single way Cross tightens around both of them so perfectly. 

They take a moment to catch their breath. Nightmare pants shakily against Cross’s shoulder, and without thinking, Dream leans forward and kisses him. His brother groans and licks against Dream’s teeth to demand entrance. Dream sighs into the kiss and basks in the cool relief of Nightmare’s tongue slipping into his mouth and curling around his. 

The tentacle threaded through the holes of his sacrum seems to twist, and Dream gasps, hips thrusting into Cross’s heat. He fights against the urge to mindlessly fuck Cross.

_ I’m going to ruin you_, Nightmare’s voice echoes in his head with promise. 

Dream knows Nightmare doesn’t just mean him.

_ Say it_, Nightmare demands. _ Say you want me to ruin you. _

Dream squeezes his sockets shut tighter. His soul recoils at the thought of admitting to something so debauched.

“Say it,” Nightmare repeats aloud, breaking the kiss. His voice is insistent and causes Cross to startle at the sudden force of it, possessive aura filling the room and holding Dream captive. “And I’ll give you all that you need.”

His breath hitches. He can feel his cheeks grow hotter. There’s a part of Dream that yearns to give in to his brother and let him unmake Dream. That part of his soul is what pries the words out of his throat.

“I—_hnn_—I want you to r-ruin us, Nightmare.”

Cross muffles a soft noise that makes Dream want to simultaneously wrap him in his arms and fuck him stupid. Nightmare closes his eye socket and smiles, satisfied. His slow exhale is just as pleased.

“Good boy,” he simpers, and Dream keens while Cross mutters a quiet “fuck.” Dream isn’t going to last much longer, and judging by the way Cross pulses around them, he won’t be holding out for too long either.

Slowly, they start to find a rhythm, thrusting in tandem into Cross who moans full-throated. He’s barely managing to stay on his knees, held aloft by Nightmare’s grip and Dream’s hands on his ribs. Dream slips a hand under his rib cage, wraps his hand around the sensitive spine, and massages there.

“Ahh— _hahn—”_

Cross shakes under Dream’s careful strokes, and he leaves scratches on Dream’s ribs.

“Fuck, yes, just like that, I’m so—”

Nightmare slides a hand down to his pussy and firmly rubs Cross’s clit with two fingers. 

“Come for us, Cross.”

Cross moans, and after a few more thrusts, he yells out, clamping down around both of them. Dream’s thrusts stutter as Cross’s pussy tightens, and he moans helplessly.

Cross sags against them, shaking uncontrollably. Dream tries to be courteous and let him rest a moment. He’s just on the edge himself, and his control is seconds away from slipping.

The tentacle laced through his sacrum suddenly writhes, stirring the heat that has long since settled there.

“_Ahh_! Nightmare—”

He abandons all rhythm and fucks Cross ruthlessly, mindless of anything but satisfying the need that shoots through the whole of him, taking over his body. Nightmare swears heavily. As he attempts to meet Dream’s every thrust, Dream is starkly aware of the feeling of his dick rubbing so close to Nightmare’s. Cross cries out in overstimulated bliss, unable to move away as they both fuck him from either side. His body turns limp, head slumping forward. Each groan is vulnerable and weakly uttered into Dream’s collarbone.

“Fuck,” Nightmare breathes. “You feel so good.”

Dream and Cross moan, neither knowing nor caring to whom Nightmare is speaking. His voice is intoxicating, and the praise coils in Dream’s pelvis. His dick is covered in slick that eases his thrusts into Cross’s cunt and steals his breath.

He’s so close, so close, it's so_ good_—

Nightmare slips into his head once more, but he doesn’t speak. Instead, Dream can suddenly see himself from Nightmare’s eye, his face flushed yellow and his mouth hanging open, expression pinched.

It’s so _ depraved_, so utterly wrong in every way, and Dream whimpers at just how close that puts him at the edge.

His cock is oversensitive as he fucks Cross’s pussy vigorously, and without warning, the tentacle laced in his sacrum tugs back out of both holes, and Dream _ shouts. _

His vision blackens. Nothing but pleasure radiates through his entire being as he comes inside of Cross. It consumes him, waves of relief rippling through his core. His head feels light, and dimly he thinks he hears Nightmare groan his own satisfaction as he fucks into Cross a few final times before stiffening. 

For a minute, they simply shake apart together, a pile of sweaty bones covered in come. Dream eases out of Cross first, wincing at his pained groan and the feeling of the mess that spills off of his dick and onto the bed. He’s going to have to change the sheets. Maybe just throw them out all together. They’re beyond ruined.

He hesitantly peeks into Cross’s emotions to make sure he’s all right. Cross is exhausted, and his body aches in numerous places, but he’s more than pleased with how things turned out.

Dream slips back out of his mind with a sigh of relief. That’s encouraging. He doesn’t think he’d be able to forgive himself if Cross was in any way miserable or regretful about the whole affair.

He looks over at his brother. Nightmare is carefully lifting Cross off of his cock. The mess that immediately follows shouldn’t make Dream’s throat dry. He thinks he manages to stifle the tiny noise before it can slip out of his mouth. Even still, Nightmare smirks down at the mess they made, and Dream feels a hot flush of embarrassment. The evidence of their passion is damning.

Already, Cross is near catatonic. Nightmare lays him down on the sheets next to him and then slides off the bed.

“I’m going to grab some washcloths to clean him up,” he says and disappears into Dream’s bathroom.

Dream watches him leave with a frown, eyes trailing down to Nightmare’s bare pelvis where the shorts are pulled down just enough to provide a teasing glimpse. He shivers and looks away. His magic can’t take another round right now, having faded away as a satisfying tiredness replaces the heady warmth. He smiles down at Cross’s lax form. 

So much happened over a silly bet. He still can’t quite believe this is all real. It’s almost too good to be true, and he’s going to have to chat with his brother about what this means for them. But for now...

The sound of running water cuts off from the bathroom.

As the nearly imperceptible shuffle of Nightmare’s steps approaches, Dream allows his soul to be content in the moment. For now, he’s going to enjoy the afterglow.

***

Cross is sleeping the sleep of the dead. He’s freshly cleaned, and his face is slack against the pillows. Dream feels a warm fondness shoot through his soul.

He looks up. Nightmare is standing at the edge of the bed, hands in the pockets of his jacket, and his eyelight shifts from Cross’s peaceful form to Dream.

“You should rest too,” he says. He doesn’t bother lowering his voice all that much, but then again, Nightmare has never really cared about being courteous. It’s fortunate that Cross is such a heavy sleeper.

Dream stares at the crown that has been vying for his attention all morning. He can’t just keep silent about it.

“Night…” he begins, but his brother brings a finger to his mouth. Dream frowns at him, and Nightmare grins back.

“Wouldn’t want to wake up your beloved now, Dream.”

The mockery is clear in his voice, mixed with a hint of something pained. Does Nightmare think Dream has replaced him with Cross? That he doesn’t care as much for his own brother anymore?

Cross’s breathing hitches for a moment, and Dream startles. He glances down to make sure he’s still unconscious and soothes a hand across his skull to ease him back into his dreamless sleep. He knows better than to try to give Cross anything that would reflect positivity in Nightmare’s castle. His brother is rather volatile when it comes to challenging his negative energy.

Speaking of which.

Dream throws a pensive look his brother’s way only to find him not there anymore. He slumps. It would have been better to talk things over with Nightmare instead of letting their uncertainties boil with the passage of time. He wants to know where both his and Cross’s relationship sits with Nightmare. Is this going to become a thing now? Are they… will they be warming Nightmare’s bed in the near future?

Dream swallows at the thought. He certainly wouldn’t be opposed, but he can’t help but feel restless. His eyelights flick back over to Cross. It’s tempting to stay here and rest, but if Dream doesn’t seek out Nightmare to get a straight answer from him, he might never receive one.

He’s just about to crawl out of bed when a pair of cold hands slip his crown off of his head.

“Wh- _ hey_!”

He automatically reaches up to grab it and hears a voice hush him.

“No need to fret, brother. I’ll take good care of it.”

Dream drops his hands and twists in bed at the smirking thief who grabbed his crown.

“Nightmare, what do you think you’re doing?”

His brother huffs a quiet laugh that’s almost kind. Dream’s crown is bright against Nightmare’s hands, but the corruption doesn’t soak into it. He examines it closely before setting it aside on the nightstand next to the bed. 

Dream opens his mouth to protest but falls short. He watches the careful way in which Nightmare reaches for the crown on his own head and takes it off. It’s almost entirely covered in the viscous fluid that encompasses Nightmare’s form, but on closer perusal, Dream sees that the crown itself is not dripping. In fact, it’s not even glistening. No, it looks as if it’s been painted in the substance, permanently stained black and clearly dry. There’s only the slightest specks of gold peeking through.

“A king doesn’t need to wear a crown if his reign is well established,” Nightmare says. He isn’t looking at Dream. “Judging by the clusterfuck of nostalgia you were displaying earlier, you remember when my crown used to sit upon your head.”

Dream’s face heats up. He hadn’t meant to allow his emotions become so open. But Nightmare doesn’t seem angry. His eyelight flits up from his crown to Dream. 

“Of course I remember,” Dream says. Then, with a bit more caution, “And you’d wear my mine too.”

“Yes, but I’m sure you’d be remiss if anything were to...dirty it at this point. No need to let your friends know how much you love your brother tainting you.”

Dream feels his flush deepen. Nightmare snickers.

“I’ll leave your crown in your room for whenever you have to attend to your petty friends’s needs,” he says, sarcasm thick in his words. Dream bristles, but Nightmare continues. 

“For now, consider this your coronation, brother.”

“What do y—”

Dream is cut off by the way Nightmare steps forward and delicately places the crown on Dream’s head. The metal is cold, unnaturally so, and Dream swears he feels corruption sinking onto him. He flinches, but Nightmare doesn’t let him shy away. His hands linger on Dream’s skull. Light circles are rubbed along the sides of Dream’s head, possibly intended to be soothing as Dream feels his body shake at the vulnerable point of contact. 

He stares wide-eyed up at Nightmare who smiles down at him in a facsimile of happiness. The soft expression on his face carves into Dream, and he leans forward unthinkingly. His soul yearns for Nightmare in that moment as it’s never yearned before, and Nightmare smoothes a hand down Dream’s cheek. He looks utterly satisfied.

“Looks good on you,” he says. Before Dream can fully process what has happened, Nightmare is already heading for the door, and Dream turns on the bed to watch him leave.

“Get some rest.” 

Nightmare opens the door but lingers. He seems to be considering something, and Dream has a sudden sick feeling that he’s done something wrong, but he doesn’t know what.

However, his worry is quickly dashed away. Nightmare looks over his shoulder at him, his grin stretched wide.

“You’re mine, Dream. And I intend to prove that to you over and over again until you become hoarse from screaming my name.”

He leaves Dream sputtering, Nightmare’s soft laughter fading as the door shuts behind him.

Dream attempts to rub the heat away from his face. His pelvis is already tingling again, which he does his best to ignore. Instead, he shifts back under the covers and curls up next to Cross. An arm slips around his waist as Cross mumbles something into his neck. Dream buries his face in Cross’s shoulder and smiles.

He still doesn’t know how the future will unfold for the three of them, but for now, he’s content. He relaxes into Cross’s familiar embrace, snuggling as close as possible, and lets sleep drag him under.


End file.
